The Metamorphosis By Franz Kafka (1915)

minion, without backbone or intelligence. Well then, what
if he reported in sick? But that would be extremely embarrassing
and suspicious, because during his five years’
service Gregor hadn’t been sick even once. The boss would
certainly come with the doctor from the health insurance
company and would reproach his parents for their lazy son
and cut short all objections with the insurance doctor’s
comments; for him everyone was completely healthy but really
lazy about work. And besides, would the doctor in this
case be totally wrong? Apart from a really excessive drowsiness
after the long sleep, Gregor in fact felt quite well and
even had a really strong appetite.
As he was thinking all this over in the greatest haste,
without being able to make the decision to get out of bed
(the alarm clock was indicating exactly quarter to seven)
there was a cautious knock on the door by the head of the
bed.
‘Gregor,’ a voice called (it was his mother!) ‘it’s quarter
to seven. Don’t you want to be on your way?’ The soft
voice! Gregor was startled when he heard his voice answering.
It was clearly and unmistakably his earlier voice, but
in it was intermingled, as if from below, an irrepressibly
painful squeaking which left the words positively distinct
only in the first moment and distorted them in the reverberation,
so that one didn’t know if one had heard correctly.
Gregor wanted to answer in detail and explain everything,
but in these circumstances he confined himself to saying,
‘Yes, yes, thank you mother. I’m getting up right away.’ Because
of the wooden door the change in Gregor’s voice was
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not really noticeable outside, so his mother calmed down
with this explanation and shuffled off. However, as a result
of the short conversation the other family members became
aware of the fact that Gregor was unexpectedly still
at home, and already his father was knocking on one side
door, weakly but with his fist. ‘Gregor, Gregor,’ he called
out, ‘what’s going on?’ And after a short while he urged him
on again in a deeper voice. ‘Gregor!’ Gregor!’ At the other
side door, however, his sister knocked lightly. ‘Gregor? Are
you all right? Do you need anything?’ Gregor directed answers
in both directions, ‘I’ll be ready right away.’ He made
an effort with the most careful articulation and by inserting
long pauses between the individual words to remove everything
remarkable from his voice. His father turned back to
his breakfast. However, the sister whispered, ‘Gregor, open
the door, I beg you.’ Gregor had no intention of opening the
door, but congratulated himself on his precaution, acquired
from traveling, of locking all doors during the night, even
at home.
First he wanted to stand up quietly and undisturbed,
get dressed, above all have breakfast, and only then consider
further action, for (he noticed this clearly) by thinking
things over in bed he would not reach a reasonable conclusion.
He remembered that he had already often felt a light
pain or other in bed, perhaps the result of an awkward lying
position, which later turned out to be purely imaginary
when he stood up, and he was eager to see how his present
fantasies would gradually dissipate. That the change in his
voice was nothing other than the onset of a real chill, an